


A Midnight Dreary

by SeerofHope_KnightofDoom



Category: Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Inspired by Art, Mental Breakdown, Not Shippy, Post-WKM?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 07:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13406838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeerofHope_KnightofDoom/pseuds/SeerofHope_KnightofDoom
Summary: Once pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—Only this and nothing more.”The Colonel gets an unexpected visitor.





	A Midnight Dreary

The frigid winter nights sapped energy from the world this far out of town. Without the neon glow to illuminate streets and sidewalks, few went out for strolls at the witching hours. The recent blizzards made it far less tempting. In his younger years, he might have enjoyed taking a walk at these hours. Though as of late, he seldom left the house. He maintained his eccentric personality when he could, but on these late nights when dreams haunted him, he preferred keeping his psychosis to himself.

These insomniac nights gave him plenty of time to ponder the events of that fateful night, but he distracted himself by reading. He’d become obsessed with _Paradise Lost_ , but the version he owned was so old it became hard to make out a few words. Despite that, he took to it. He poured over every word. He’d read until sunlight if undisturbed.

A quiet knock did just that. The colonel flinched and withdrew his pistol and pointed it at the door to his office. It stayed locked, but he knew ever since the night of misfortune that people followed him, laughed at him. He knew it. He saw glimpses of them when they thought he wasn’t paying attention but he spotted them.

“It’s just the house settling,” he grumbled to himself before returning to his book. It was getting good. The lovely woman in the story was talking to the troubled protagonist.

He drove himself back into the story and let in the images of a heavenly wonderland on Earth with an alluring woman by his side. Only the fireplace in his office kept the December chill away, but the longer he stayed up, the weaker the flames grew. It was only coals and cinder by that point, but he couldn’t bring himself to get up from his chair and grab more firewood.

When he set the book aside, the memories came back. When the memories came back, he remembered the enchantress that captured his heart and the misfortune that struck that brisk October night. If he stayed in the pages, he kept the memory of Celine out of his mind and the pain out of his heart.

Even if his eyes and attention focused on the words of John Milton’s work, he was still an accomplished colonel and had no trouble spotting each subtle movement through the dim office. The luxurious curtains flitted through the air, casting menacing shadows and sounding with a soft rustling. Many times he thought he saw a person walking towards him. Terror crept into his mind, but he grabbed his trusty pistol and reasserted himself. “It’s just the house settling.”

The muffled knock came again. The blizzard outside howled and a distant bolt of lightning illuminated the cloudy night sky. It was enough. His worries needed putting to rest. He marked his place in the book and headed the door. “Mister, madame, title of your choosing, please forgive me. I was sleeping and I wasn’t sure I heard you…”

When the door creaked open, nothing was there. The dim light from his office didn’t cast far into the hall, but he could still tell he was alone.

No. He wasn’t alone. He was never alone. They were mocking him from the shadows. He could hear the footsteps if he focused, he was sure of it. He scoured the hall, but his eyes weren’t adapted for such little light. He tried. He waited at the edge of his office and tried to spot them. They were angry. That’s why they played their elaborate joke in the first place. He knew what he did. He betrayed his dearest friend and now they were punishing him for it.

“Celine?”

No response came except for the echo that returned, a mockery of his own desperate hope.

Embarrassed by his foolishness, he returned to his office, to _Paradise Lost_ , to safety. He took a deep breath and let himself drift back into the world created by ink and page. He needed it. He let himself drift back to reality and he called out the name of his vanished lover when the house creaked in the blizzard. He should have learned.

Then it happened again, louder this time. He once again set down his book and looked to the window this time. He needed to put his nerves to rest. If it was his tormentors again, he needed to see them. If it was something else, he was more than half tempted to shoot it.

He opened the window. The harsh blizzard’s wind blew in his face and made the curtains tangle around him. He pushed them out of the way and sputtered in the face of the bitter, stinging gale. He glared down three stories to the ground below. No one.

Feeling his face and fingers already numbing in the cold, he gave up and shut the window. He brought in the curtains and hurried to his book when he saw a shadowy figure standing in the doorway.

The stranger stood stoically, but carried himself with an air of nobility, like a prince. He looked familiar to the old colonel but unplaceable. No one he knew looked so rigid and tense — not even after the night at the manor.

“Forgive me, I didn’t hear you enter. It’s later than I’d like but I do welcome the company! Please, come in. Have a seat!” Despite the weeks of sleepless nights, he remembered hospitality. Part of him was glad to see this stranger, despite the fact he could feel his mind slipping away. “I must say, being out on the town in this weather doesn’t interest me, but the storm hasn’t battered you much, I see. A bit roughed up, maybe, but impeccably dressed! What brings you to my home? Bit late for business, no? Forgive my manners, I forgot to introduce myself. My friends call me the Colonel. You are…?”

“Dark.”

The colonel held his breath in an attempt to restrain his laughter. Who names a child that? No, this was a codename or some other form of a chosen name. He knew better than to judge, but he knew this had to be part of their plot. Damien disguised himself and Celine did his makeup. The colonel would play along regardless, deciding to let his tormentors get a taste of their own medicine.

“Dark! Delighted to make your acquaintance!” The stranger barely acknowledged the greeting. Discomforted, the colonel kept on talking to fill the silence. Something about the stranger’s eyes reminded him of the quiet. The same way the silence forced his mind to race back to the events of the misfortune that befell him, the stranger’s eyes compelled him to reflect back to the manor’s host that night. They shared a resemblance, he supposed, but the stranger was definitely not Mark. “You’re not the first to stop by. Most people leave before morning, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“I won’t.”

Such curt, sharp responses set the colonel on edge. He remembered his manners, sure, but the way the stranger looked at him made him feel as though he had committed some atrocious crime. He had not done so! He was the victim of a cruel joke! The stranger’s cold rage and terse responses cut to his core.

“Man of few words I see,” he mused aloud. “That’s fine. I’m sure I’d have little to say if I was out in the cold for long.” In truth, he wondered if this visitor was a kind of kindred spirit. Maybe he, too, was a victim of cruel loved ones. Maybe these tormentors made him so curt. That was fine. He’d fill the silence if he needed to. He really was glad for someone to talk to. Aside from a bird that made its nest in the attic, he had no visitors since that night at the manor. He always figured Damien spread around horrid rumors about him as part of his torture.

The old colonel pulled up a second chair by the low fire for his guest, but the stranger just stared at him with a grim look. A familiar look, he decided, but one he still couldn’t place. It wasn’t purely loathing, he reckoned, but an ominous air filled the room. He wished the stranger brought in a log from the fire, but he didn’t want to ask his guest to weather the storm now. He already looked like a walking corpse, as gaunt as his stance was and as hollow as his eyes looked.

He tried to return to his book, but the way the stranger looked at him made him wary. He reached for his pistol, but the odd guest fascinated him too much to try to fire a shot. It was likely just chance that this poor-mannered would-be aristocrat found his way to the colonel’s home, his office, but what if it was fate? He held the stranger’s gaze as he tried to puzzle it out, wishing he had better light to figure out why the guest looked so familiar.

He supposed in a roundabout way that he was reminded of the lovely Celine. A cousin, perhaps. The way the man carried himself with the same dignity. She and her brother shared that, so it was reasonable a cousin might have inherited such grace as well. Perhaps he came to console him. He took solace in that notion, but he suspected it wrong. Why would his glare be so piercing then? Not even the detective that suspected him glowered at him that way.

He shook his head. He couldn’t think about that anymore.

“I need a drink. Might I offer you some? I’ve got whiskey, scotch, bourbon, wine…” He drank from his flask, but the stranger didn’t reply. “What, have you taken some sort of… vow of temperance? Ah, you won’t really say anything much, will you? No point in asking the functional mute, I suppose. Not the typical company I kept, I’m afraid. This young chatterbox Celine though, she and I could talk for hours.”

“No more.”

The stranger knew. Celine was gone and it drove the colonel insane and this stranger _knew_. He reached for his pistol again, breaths heavy. “You know her! You know Celine! You know Damien, too then. They sent you here to torment me, didn’t they?! They called you all the way out here in the middle of the harshest snowstorm we’ve seen in recent history just to terrorize me. Are they done yet?! Will they come talk to me?!” The yelling brought him no satisfaction. The stranger didn’t flinch, but the colonel became desperate. He couldn’t handle this.

“They won’t.”

Tears formed in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He had more fight in him yet. He drew his revolver from its holster and continued his raving. The curious stranger had to know something about the tragedy. “You think you’re so clever! You know my old chums so well, then tell me. Where has Celine gone?! Is she with Damien? What about Mark and the newly appointed district attorney?! You think you know everything then answer _that!_ ”

“You know.”

The colonel all but screamed. He refused to believe that they were all dead. They couldn’t be. He’d seen one of them stand up and another’s alleged corpse had vanished. It was impossible they were all dead. Inconceivable!

“ _Get out!_ ” he bellowed as the first tears began to stream down his face. “Get out of this house if you know what’s best for you.”

The stranger tilted his head subtly, though his expression remained unchanged. The colonel took aim but he still didn’t so much as blink. The dancing shadows obscured most details, but the visitor clearly had a subtle smirk on his face.

“Do it.”

Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger. At such a short range, it was impossible to miss. Yet the bullet seemed to have no effect on this stranger. He didn’t so much as stumble as he approached the colonel.

He fired the gun three more times, each with no effect. The stranger gently took the weapon from its owner and set it down next to the book. The colonel collapsed into his chair, numb to the world around him.

The stranger held his hands behind his back and leaned forward ever so slightly.

“They’re gone, Wil.”

Without a proper response left, all the colonel could do was snicker. He held his head in his hands, trying to regain composure. The more he tried, the harder he found himself laughing. The laughing faded to tears until he was little more than a blubbering mess.

“I’ll never see her again… Celine… It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault…”

Satisfied, the visitor picked up the book and at last sat down in the chair the colonel had provided.

He turned the page, and then another. The colonel lost track of time. The room was deathly silent, save for the faint echoes of his own sobbing.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at three in the morning, inspired by a poetry phase and watching Mark play Doki Doki Literature Club. Why am I like this? The world may never know.


End file.
